


Anything For You

by lestvt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AUish, Drama/Romance, M/M, Memory Loss, Oneshot, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lestvt/pseuds/lestvt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Like Hermione altered her parents' memories in order to look for the horcruxes, Harry obliviated Draco to hide their secret relationship from Voldemort’s Legilimency and to protect Draco from the pain of losing Harry as he walks to his certain death. As Harry unexpectedly survives the war and enters his eighth year at Hogwarts, he finds himself in an entirely different kind of battle: winning someone back who doesn’t remember him as anything but the enemy." (By Anon on drarrypromptoftheday.tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything For You

It would be a lie to say that Harry _hates_ being a hero.

It was a role he was born into, of course, and so he never really had much of a choice in the matter. But if someone were to ask him to give it all up, to shuck his responsibilities once and for all, as well as the pains that came along with them, Harry couldn’t say that he would. He wouldn’t be much of a Gryffindor if he did, he reasons to himself. Nor would he be the morally sound person he always aspires to be.

However, that being said, there are times that Harry wishes he were anyone else – times like when he sees young children roaming around Diagon Alley with their families in tow, pointing into the store windows as they beg their parents to give in and buy them whatever it is they fancy. Times like when the Prophet prints some absurd story about him, something they clearly pulled out of their arses just for the revenue it’s guaranteed to bring in, unconcerned with how it affects his life. Times like when random girls on the street (and even the occasional bloke) bombard him with questions about his personal life, trying to get to know the famous Harry Potter. Not because they are genuinely interested in him, _oh no_ , but because he is supposedly “rich, powerful, and single.”

And then there are the time likes now – now as Harry sits in the Great Hall of Hogwarts on the first night of his eighth and final year there, reminded of all the things he sacrificed in order to get to this point. Here, where the memories of the memories he erased are inescapable. It’s in this moment that Harry has never wished he were someone else more.

It’s funny almost, in a bittersweet sort of way, how easy it is for him to just sit there and imagine that its sixth year again, when things were a bit simpler (but still sickeningly complicated). Even with the war looming overhead and Voldemort alive and running a muck, at least back then he wasn’t the only one who remembered.

He can’t help himself now.

Harry had been dreading coming back to school for this exact reason, but still he is unable to resist the temptation of glancing across the way to the Slytherin table, where Draco sits in solitude despite all the other students around him, staring angrily at an empty plate.

 _But it’s not Draco anymore. It’s Malfoy_ , Harry reminds himself. He hasn’t been Harry’s Draco since the end of sixth year when...

“Harry,” Hermione’s soft voice cuts through his thought process, effectively bringing it to a halt. She seems to have noticed where he is staring. “Is everything alright?”

Harry turns to her and offers a half-smile.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he insists less than convincingly. “Just lost in thought.”

Hermione gives him a skeptical look, but luckily she does not push. Harry considers that this is probably because she already guessed what’s on his mind. She’s the only one who really knows all the details of that night after all. Harry couldn’t bring himself to tell Ron – he knows he wouldn’t understand. Best friend or not.

After that, Harry does not look at Draco… he doesn’t look at Malfoy again for the rest of the feast. Every time the urge envelopes him he counters it by striking up a conversation with Ron, or Neville, or Seamus, or whoever is available instead, and manages to forget his worries for a few minutes, until the next time his mind reminds him about the things he’s done to protect the people he cares about.

The thought never fully leaves his mind that day (like most days since), but it does fade a bit once he’s safely tucked away in the Gryffindor common room for the night. That is, until he’s one of the few left awake and Hermione seeks him out again so that they may speak more privately.

“Is this what you meant?” she asks, books tucked neatly under her arm as she perches herself on the couch beside him.

Harry gives her a confused look and so she continues to elaborate.

“Earlier – on the train,” she explains. “You said you wouldn’t be surprised if this was your most miserable year yet. I was just wondering if it’s because… Well, you know.”

Truthfully, Harry doesn’t really want to talk about this with anyone except the source of the problem, but he knows that isn’t an option. So, Hermione is probably the next best thing. And anyway, he’s glad he at least still has her, who knows what he’s going through to some degree.

So, he relents.

“Yeah, it is,” he tells her, his voice breathy and distant when it comes out.

There really is nothing else to say.

But Hermione apparently disagrees with that notion.

“You could just… talk to him, perhaps,” she suggests, clearly uncertain.

“Hermione, no,” Harry shoots back sternly. “This isn’t something I can just _undo_. It’s not like how it was with your parents.”

Hermione looks slightly hurt by the insinuation that she’s insensitive to the difference in their scenarios. But it’s true – for her it was a simple task to return what was taken, but for Harry there is no turning back. For Harry, what’s done is done.

“I know,” she whispers cautiously, finally breaking the tense silence which went on a moment too long between them. “But… but maybe you could try to restart instead.”

At the suggestion Harry laughs humorlessly. It sounds so easy in theory like that, as if they hadn’t already struggled enough during their sixth year. However, as opposed as his right mind is to the idea of chasing that which he can no longer have, the rest of him suddenly feels as though Hermione is right. Maybe he does have options here. Maybe things aren’t hopeless for them. Though, he doesn’t allow the thoughts to linger long.

That would be dangerous.

With that in mind, Harry stands up and turns towards the stairs.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he says as he walks away.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she calls back. “Sleep well.”

 

* * *

 

_A rush of cold air against his legs causes Harry to stir from his sleep. Cracking an eye open he glances around the Room of Requirement, trying to determine where the draft is coming from. What he finds is that there is no draft, unsurprisingly. Instead the person in bed beside him has stolen the blankets from him during the night, effectively wrapping themselves into a cocoon of white as they continue to soundly sleep, unaware of Harry’s newfound wakefulness._

_For a moment Harry feels as if he shouldn’t be where he is, but, as quickly as the thought comes, it passes. And then Harry is overcome by how right everything feels instead._  
  
_Rolling over to wrap an arm around his bedfellow’s waist, Harry watches as grey eyes open to the world, and as soon as they do, the reality of what is about to happen comes crashing down around him. Harry remembers now why they’ve come here._

_He isn’t happy._

_“’arry?” Draco questions in a sleep addled tone, softened when it should be sharp and demanding. He sits up slightly and rubs an eye as the sheet slips away to reveal the pale skin of his chest. “What’re you doin’ up?”_

_Harry can’t stop himself from smiling at Draco’s sleepy drawl, despite everything._

_“I was cold,” he explains, suddenly shaken by a nauseating bout of déjà vu. He is forced to pause, swallowing his feelings, before he goes on. “You stole all the covers.”_

_“Is that so?” Draco mutters, closing his eyes again as he lies back down. “Suppose you’ll simply have to retaliate and take them back from me then.”_

_“No, that’s okay,” Harry says, taking a moment to enjoy the little snicker that escapes Draco’s mouth upon hearing his passive reply._

_It’s a lovely sound, but Harry has a hard time truly relishing in it._

_The guilt has already begun to eat away at him at this point, making his chest tight and his limbs tingly as he thinks about how unfair it all is. He considers the fact that Draco deserves to know why he’s going to do what he’s going to do. He considers that Draco just deserves to know that he’s going to do it in general really. But Harry can’t bring himself to tell him – even if it’s all for his sake, just to keep him safe._

_With that in mind, Harry leans over to whisper into Draco’s ear._

_“Go back to sleep,” he orders lightly, but Draco is already way ahead of him and Harry can’t decide if it’s a relief or not._

_Then suddenly his wand is in his hand and he’s aiming it at Draco’s temple, watching as his chest rises and falls steadily and repeatedly in his sleep. And before he can second guess himself Harry is fighting back tears and whispering the spell which will help ensure Draco’s safety in the upcoming war. As much as he hates it._

_The spell tastes bad coming out, but he says it anyway, though it’s harsher than necessary and is coated in something akin to rage. It ends up sounding more like a swear word, one which is uttered to express the pure pain of being alive._

_“Obliviate,” he hisses._

And when Harry wakes up again it’s two years later and he’s staring at the curtains of his bed in Gryffindor tower, sullen thanks to the memory of what they had, of what he’s done, of what he wants to do. Though the most painful part of all is knowing that for the last two years Harry has been the only one harboring the curse of the memory of their time together. And, no matter what, he will continue to be the only one. Indefinitely.

And it's entirely his own fault.

 

* * *

 

Draco isn’t oblivious to the fact that Potter has been watching him almost non-stop since they both showed up for their extra eighth year of classes. It’s not as if it’s anything new that Potter thinks he’s up to something, but now that the war has ended Draco wishes they could just let bygones be bygones. That way he’d no longer have to stress about how little he actually minded being the center of Harry Potter’s attention.

There’s something off about Potter though. He doesn’t really respond to any of the glares Draco shoots him when he catches him staring. He simply sits there, looking sad and regretful, as if he isn’t the Wizarding World’s Perfect Golden-boy Hero at the moment. And, honestly, it irks Draco like no other.

He starts to wonder why he ever agreed to return to school in the first place. His education? Draco has plenty of resources at his disposal back at the Manor, so he really doesn’t need to be here in order to learn. However, his mother insisted that it was important for him to get a proper last year experience, as well as for him to show that his Malfoy pride is still intact enough for him not to be afraid to show his face in public. It’s important for their family image, especially now, when the rest of the world wants them in Azkaban.

And they just narrowly avoided it too, really.

Draco hated to admit it, but it was mostly thanks to Potter that they were released back into the world generally unscathed, aside from the scars on their reputation. Though, Draco couldn’t understand why he’d done it. For all intents and purposes, Potter had every reason to want him and his parents locked up for good. Obviously, the two of them had never been friends, not even close, and even if Draco hadn’t turned him in on that day at the Manor, even if his mother had lied to the Dark Lord for him, that still wasn’t enough to wash away years of ill treatment and bullying.

But Draco knows that it does him no good to dwell on such thoughts. He very well may never know why Potter helped him, but he also supposes that it doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day he’s grateful, even if he won’t admit it.

This staring though… it’s become too much to handle.

Draco is constantly aware of Potter’s eyes on him during class and meals. Despite what he thought earlier, he knows that Potter doesn’t really suspect him of anything anymore. He probably hasn’t since he defeated the Dark Lord. But that merely brings about the question of why else he would be watching him all the time.

After a week, Draco finally decides that he is fed up with it.

He waits for Potter outside the Great Hall as the other students file in for dinner. Some spare him scared glances while others spear him with resentful glares, but no one says a word to him. They rarely do at all anymore, not even the few returning Slytherins. However, Draco has grown accustom to seclusion – in fact, he rather enjoys it.

Potter turns the corner then and in a second their eyes meet. But Potter quickly averts his gaze like a child whose been caught stealing from the cookie jar and continues on his path.

This, of course, annoys Draco.

“Potter,” he calls icily, stepping in his way. “A word?”

A look of horror crosses Potter’s face as he realizes that Draco is trying to get him alone, and he idly looks to the few remaining students as they observe the scene with interest before stepping into the Great Hall.

Once it’s just them Potter’s face contorts with irritation.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” he demands, but his words come out forced.

Draco raises a brow.

“A word,” he repeats cheekily. “Are you deaf as well as dumb, Potter?”

For a moment Potter’s face softens and he almost seems as if he’s about to smile. But just like that his stance tightens and he narrows his eyes instead.

Despite his aggressive posture however, his words come out much lighter.

“About what?” he asks warily.

“I want to know why you’ve been watching me all the time,” Draco states, and just as Potter seems on the verge of denial, he cuts him short. “And don’t you dare say you haven’t! I can all but feel your eyes on me half the time and, frankly, it’s beginning to freak me out.”

Potter seems to be at a loss for words. He pauses and bites his lower lip in thought, something he does rather often (Draco realizes extraneously), but after a while it becomes clear that he is reluctant to say anything at all.

“Well?” Draco prompts again, suddenly anxious. “Out with it!”

And Potter’s eyes widen as he notices the avid emotion lacing his voice.

“Look… Malfoy…” he begins finally. “This goes a lot deeper than you currently know, but if you really want to hear the truth, I’ll tell you. It just can’t be here.”

“What do you mean by that?” Draco asks, though he’s now unsure whether or not he really wants to know the answer to that question. “ _What_ goes deeper?”

But Potter just shakes his head tiredly, repeating the words “not here.” And then in a blink of an eye he’s grabbed Draco by the wrist, pulling him away from the Great Hall, through the corridors, up the stairs, and suddenly they’ve come to a door which seems to materialize out of thin air – the Room of Requirement.

The room inside has turned to a humble and homey layout; there’s a bed against the far wall, big enough for two adults, and a couch and armchair sit by a fire place nearby. It’s rather reminiscent of a common room, sans the bed and the fact that everything is adorned in black rather than house colors, and Draco wonders why it’s all so hauntingly familiar – almost like something from a dream he had once. Or a few times.

Then, as the door closes, Potter is turning to him. His eyes are practically burning with unsaid things, words he wants to utter, but feels he has no right to. It’s like he’s overflowing with years of suppressed sentiment and Draco is about to become his catalyst.

Once Draco is already thoroughly concerned for the future of his facial structure (because it wouldn’t be the first time a Gryffindor had decided to punch him in the nose), Potter finally begins to speak.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing out of his mouth, both startling and perturbing Draco at the same time, because _what on Earth is_ he _sorry for?_

“That’s it?” Draco mocks him, even while knowing full well that that is most certainly _not_ it. “You dragged me clean across the castle to apologize for staring?”

“Not quite,” Potter replies shakily and gestures to the couch. “You’re probably not going to believe this… maybe you should sit down.”

Wanting him to go on, Draco takes a seat and gives him an expectant look, as if challenging him to back down. After all, he knows Potter has never been able to resist a proper challenge, especially not one issued by one Draco Malfoy.

Luckily, Potter needs no further coercing to start spilling what’s on his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “For being a right creep, yes, but not for just that. I’ve been spending so much time trying to forget the past, that I didn’t realize how my own feelings were complicating things. I should’ve just been honest with you from the start.”

If he wasn’t before, now Draco is thoroughly confused.

“The start?” he echoes. “You mean the start of the war?”

“Yes and no,” Potter sighs, running a hand though the fringe covering his scar as he sits down beside him. “Really, I probably should’ve told you before the war, back in sixth year. And then, as soon as the war ended, I should’ve run to tell you again.”

“To tell me what?” Draco spits, his confusion beginning to take a different, more familiar form – the form of anger. “Stop wasting my time! I’m not your bloody diary! I’ve followed you all the way here to listen to your big bloody secret, even though we hate each other, so hurry up and get on with it! What does this have to do with me?!”

“Malfoy,” Potter begins to say, but before he can go on, he sighs again and starts over.

“ _Draco_ ,” he amends, and the ease with which he says it gives the boy in question a rather foreboding feeling of familiarity. “What do you remember from sixth year?”

“I…” Draco goes to reply, though he second guesses himself when thinks about just what he was going to say, things about the Dark Lord and Death Eaters. However, he then realizes that these are all the things that Potter already knows about. If he was going to use those things against Draco he would’ve already.

Of course, Draco is not an open book. He can’t afford to be. So, instead he asks “what does it matter?” And he leaves it at that while images of the day he received the Dark Mark dance around his mind, accompanied only by the thought of his father rotting away in Azkaban and his mother’s distraught expression. Then he realizes that beyond that, aside from the memory of the order given to him by the Dark Lord and his failure to follow through with it, Draco’s memory of sixth year is rather fuzzy. In fact, he can’t remember seeing or even thinking of Potter much at all in that time.

This, of course, only confuses him all the more.

“Draco,” Potter utters his name again, bringing him back from his thoughts to the moment at hand. “There’s something you need to know.”

Draco stares at him blankly, his eyes wide and somewhat fearful of where this is going.

So, Potter merely presses on.

“In sixth year you and I were…” Potter hesitates. “Together.”

Draco openly scoffs out a laugh at that, because surely Potter is joking. How could Draco ever forget something like that? It’s preposterous! He would never even consider dating goody-goody Potter now, long after his wake-up call to his own prejudices; 16-year-old Draco would’ve rather died.

“Oh? In what dimension?” he laughs bitterly, but Potter’s forlorn expression makes him stop and second guess himself.

“This one,” Potter says, unaffected. “You don’t remember, because… I obliviated you so that Voldemort would never find out.”

Draco can’t help but flinch at the Dark Lord’s name, but the uncomfortable feeling it gives him is overshadowed by the shock that comes along with the other words spilling from Potter’s mouth. Honestly… he must think Draco is very gullible.

“You must be joking!” Draco barks as he stands up from the couch and takes an uncertain step away from Potter and his crazy talk. “We loathe each other! What potions have you been abusing, Potter? You’ve lost your damn mind!”

“It’s not a joke and we don’t loathe each other,” Potter states, his tone deeper than before, drenched in something dark and mournful. “At least, I don’t loath you. Quite the contrary actually…”

“So, what then?!” Draco shoots back. “Did you honestly think I’d just believe you? And even if I did, did you expect me to simply say ‘oh, it’s okay,’ and be done with it?”

“No, Draco!” Potter cries, standing up as well. “But you asked why I’ve been watching you so much since school started again, and that’s the reason! Besides, I couldn’t hold it in anymore – I’ve been wrought with nothing but guilt and regret since I did that to you!”

Draco takes another step back upon hearing the pure, honest emotion in Potter’s voice, but Potter stops him from fleeing by once again latching onto his wrist.

“Two years,” Potter goes on. “Two years I’ve spent wondering if it was worth it! Two years of worrying that it wasn’t enough to protect you! Two years of knowing you’d hate me if you ever found out, more than you already do! And two years of wishing you remembered how much I love you!”

By now Draco is gaping in a rather undignified manner.

“You must be joking,” he says again, this time softer and less defensive.

Then Potter releases his hold on him.

“I’m not,” he answers, something in his voice pleading with Draco to understand.

But he won’t – he _can’t_ – and as soon as he’s free from Harry’s grip, he bolts.

Never again does he intend to see Harry Potter’s face.

 

* * *

 

 Eighth year comes and goes without another incident.

Since the day Harry admitted the truth to him, Draco has been avoiding him like the plague. He won’t acknowledge him, go near him, or even look at him for that matter. And as disappointed as Harry can’t help being, he’s not surprised and completely understands. Draco probably still doesn’t believe him anyway. He’s much too suspicious.

Now freed of the burdens of school, Harry goes on to pursue his desired career as an Auror. The current Auror’s are glad to have him, of course. He is still the hero of the Wizarding World after all, but along with that comes the knowledge that everyone is expecting a lot from him as a result. Not that he minds – he’s come to terms with the fact that he’ll always be held up on a pedestal by the people who don’t know him personally, and even sometimes by those who do. He reasons that there are much worse things in this life than having high expectations put on you… things like having to erase your boyfriend’s memories.  
  
That being said, Harry isn’t sure if he’ll ever get over what he did to Draco. He isn’t sure he’ll ever fully get over Draco as a whole either, but at least now that school is done he isn’t reminded of his regrets on a daily basis. Sometimes, he’s even able to pretend that he was the one who lost their memories instead, and it makes the loneliness somewhat bearable.  
  
It isn’t until a little over two years after graduation that Harry is forced to face those memories again.  
  
Harry is on an Auror mission when it happens. The occultists he and his team are after catch him off guard – their group is larger than expected. This puts a damper on their plans of course, but Harry is still a hero, and so when he sees his chance he rushes in like a brash, brainless buffoon, and suddenly a searing pain in his chest brings him to nothing but clam, quiet blackness.  
  
He comes to in a bed at St. Mungo’s.

Ron, who is part of his team, is there. He tells Harry that he’s lucky they were around to back him up or else he’d probably be dead. Then he adds that he’s been given the next month off to recover from the curse that knocked him out for two days straight, motioning to the flowers which were apparently left by Hermione yesterday.  
  
Harry makes a silent note in his head reminding himself to thank her later, as well as to apologize for being reckless, as he knows she’ll scold him the next time they meet up… for certain she will.  
  
After that Ron bids his goodbyes and goes home to Hermione. He doesn’t like leaving her alone too often these days, what with her being six months pregnant with their first child and all. Harry says he understands, of course, and see’s Ron off with a smile and a wave.  
  
The silence of his room, which has a muffling spell cast upon it to keep out the noise of the hospital, does not last long however.  
  
About five minutes later someone clears their throat at the door, causing Harry to look up from where his eyes are trained on his lap.  
  
He’s nearly unable to hold in his yelp of shock.  
  
There, in the entrance of the room, stands Draco Malfoy – dressed in all white, his arms are crossed and he’s glaring at Harry as if he’s a gnome he’s caught in his garden that he simply can’t wait to do away with.  
  
“Finally awake, I see, Potter,” he observes impassively.  
  
“Draco?” Harry half asks, half gasps. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Draco laughs once at that and sweeps a hand down the front of his body dramatically.  
  
“Do you think I dress in Healer’s robes for the sake of fashion?” he counters, some humor now seeping through his tone. “No, rather, I’ve been put in charge of your case. My first solo case, I might add.”  
  
“You…?” Harry says dumbly.  
  
“I’m offended by your reaction,” he mutters as he steps into the room and up to Harry’s bedside. Without looking him in the eye, Draco pulls out his wand and begins mumbling a plethora of different spells. He checks his vitals, looks for any remaining affects of the curse, and probably does everything else he can think to do before addressing him again.  
  
“How do you feel?” he asks, finally meeting Harry’s eyes. “Does it hurt to breathe?”  
  
“No,” Harry says slowly. “My chest is a little sore though…”  
  
Then, “when did you become a Healer?”  
  
Draco cracks a smile at his odd timing though and Harry would be a liar if he said the sight didn’t make his heart skip a beat.  
  
“Around the same time you became an Auror, I’d guess,” Draco states, his tone playful in a way Harry hasn’t heard since they were sixteen and careless. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about the tenderness of your skin. The sort of curse you were hit with is exceptionally hard to remedy in its entirety. We’ve managed to clear you of the worst of it, of course, but the soreness will probably remain for another few days.”  
  
“Oh,” Harry states dumbly. “Thanks.”  
  
“My pleasure,” Draco replies, only a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “From this point on you’re free to go back to your life of gallivanting around trying to save the day for everyone. Just do your former classmate a favor and try not to end up back here too soon, alright? I don’t think I can handle seeing your face at my job so often.”  
  
“Right,” Harry agrees. And suddenly he’s unable to stop himself. Seeing Draco has brought back all the memories he’s been working so hard to forget, especially when he’s acting so oddly pleasant, how he used to back when they were together.  
  
“Listen, Draco, I’m so…” he goes to say, but Draco, as usual, doesn’t give him the chance.  
  
“Harry, don’t,” he orders firmly. “Just… don’t apologize anymore. You’ve already told me what you did and why you did it. Isn’t that enough?”  
  
“No,” Harry says after swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I just need you to understand that it’s not a lie. I really only did it to protect you.”

Draco deflates upon hearing this, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I know that,” he insists. “I may have been too scared to realize it when you told me last time, but I know that now. So, it should be enough.”

“It’s not though,” Harry pushes as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed.  
  
Draco furrows his brow curiously.  
  
“Then when will it be enough?” he asks.  
  
Harry shakes his head.

“When you let me make it up to you,” he says.

Draco pauses and purses his lips. He stares at Harry for a long while, as if trying to find the reason behind his words. But clearly he is unable.  
  
“How?” he prompts, sounding a bit too hopeful for his own liking.  
  
The truth is that since he and Harry’s talk that day during eighth year, he’s been unable to stop thinking about what it means. Even now after literal years of mulling over the confession and conversation Draco can’t seem to understand why he isn’t furious about the fact that Harry more or less stole their relationship from him anymore. For a while there he could only think of how unfair it was that Harry supposedly knew him rather intimately, while Draco himself hardly knew Harry at all. But eventually the rage that notion caused him was replaced by a sort of melancholy longing for something that apparently was, but that, as far as he could remember, never really was at all.

That thought alone was more than enough to keep him up at night too.

But Harry was still Harry. He was a Gryffindor through and through, and somehow Draco wondered why he hadn’t been expecting this to happen sooner or later.

“Let me take you on a date tonight, so I can replace the memories I stole from you,” Harry offers with a smile, though through that Gryffindor Bravery™ of his, Draco can make out the nervous energy clear as day.

Or perhaps that’s just his own nervous energy shining through…

Draco heaves a sigh.

“I can’t…” he states, regretting it as soon as Harry’s smile drops.

“Ah… I, uh, I get it,” Harry says awkwardly, not sure how to handle the rejection. “It was rather stupid of me to ask, wasn’t it?”

“Let me finish, Potter!” Draco spits his surname like an insult, though it doesn’t come out quite as harshly as he originally intended… something about the disappointment on Harry’s face is a bit off-putting and makes him falter. “I was _going_ to say, before you so kindly decided to interrupt me, that I can’t _tonight_ … or tomorrow for that matter… But, luckily for you, I happen to be completely free this weekend, and I may even be willing to spare you some of my precious time with the right persuasion.”

“Persuasion?” Harry repeats the word, a smile once again playing at his lips. “Is the promise of a nice dinner enough persuasion for the great Draco Malfoy?”

“It’ll do,” Draco agrees, turning slightly to hide the blush which threatens to cover his face. “But you offered, so you’re paying.”

“But of course,’ Harry chirps, a full blow grin now erupting onto his face. “I’d do anything for you, you know.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to prove it,” Draco says without thinking.

For a moment he’s doubtful about all this. Old fears and insecurities begin to bubble to the surface and he almost feels the need to run away from Harry, just like before. However, a glance at that smile, bright and friendly and warm like the sun, is enough to snuff those fears like a weak little candle.

And before he can stop the thought from creeping into his mind, Draco finds himself thinking that maybe he really does understand why Harry obliviated him all those years ago. Maybe, if he were in his place, he would do the same. Because as he looks to Harry’s smile and imagines how nice it would be to always have around, Draco can’t help but think that maybe he too would do anything to keep him safe.

Then, even more years later, perhaps Draco will finally be able to admit it aloud.

_“I’d do anything for you too.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Tonight after work I spent five hours straight writing this (no breaks), because I (for some reason) felt a deep dark need to write some dramatic Drarry. So, I found the prompt in the summary on Tumblr and had at it... I'm honestly not really sure how I feel about how this story turned out though. I wrote it in present tense, because I thought it added to the drama of it, but who knows if that actually worked? Either way, I always feel like my own writing is a bit rushed. Here's to hoping it doesn't come off that way to anyone else. 
> 
> Anyway, I think I'm gonna keep filling Drarry prompts for a while. It's almost therapeutic how easily I'm able to write for this fandom. It just seems to come naturally... On that note, I'm willing to take requests if anyone has suggestions - it just has to be something I'm interested in (and, of course, Drarry related). So, don't be shy!
> 
> Oh, and one more thing. Because I wrote this in one sitting, I only had time to read through and edit it once before I had to call it a night. So, as per usual, please ignore any mistakes you may find for the time being. I'll get to them eventually... probably... maybe... Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> & thanks for reading!
> 
> Until next time,  
> \- fae


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